Page 59 of The Scot is Hers
“Play on,” he called to the rest of the guests. “I’ll be back shortly.”
Giselle wrapped her arms loosely around his shoulders and smiled. “We did it.”
“No’ yet, but we’re getting there. Is anyone watching?”
Giselle peeked over his shoulder to look back at the coquet players. “A few, but mostly they are paying attention to themselves.”
“And your mother?”
“She keeps sneaking glances, but the dowager countess is doing a marvelous job of distracting her. I can no’ help but wonder what has persuaded her to aid our cause?”
“I think it is that your mother wants to pull us apart. Lady Errol has taken offense to the idea that Lady Bothwell thinks Sir Joshua Keith is a better match when we all know that is shite.”
Giselle giggled at his vulgar language.
“Apologies for that,” he muttered.
“No need. It is shite.”
Alec met her gaze with an unwavering stare, and for a minute, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he pulled his gaze away ahead. Inside the house, he continued to carry her toward the library.
“Ye can put me down, ye know. I’m no’ really hurt. No’ anymore.”
“I know, but I like the way ye feel in my arms.” Inside the library, he shut the door and twisted the lock. “In case anyone tries to interrupt us.”
A little thrill ran through Giselle at the idea that he too wanted to be alone. Alec settled her on a soft sofa and sat down beside her. Now that they were isolated, she wasn’t quite certain what to do about it. She wanted to kiss him, to ask him if he’d changed his mind about the duel, but she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to know his answer. Not now, when if the answer was what she thought it might be, it would spoil this moment of respite they had together.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing ye since yesterday,” he said, his arm crossing the back of the sofa and his fingers dancing over her shoulder.
“Me too. Ye’d better do it soon before they take the croquet mallets to the door.”
Alec chuckled. “That would certainly put a damper on the mood, to have all the guests marching on their library with their proverbial pitchforks.”
Giselle grinned. “Aye.”
Alec leaned over her, brushing his lips on hers. She sighed at the touch as every inch of her skin came to life, wanting more of his kiss, more of his touch.
“Do ye play chess?” he asked abruptly.
“Aye.”
“I have an idea.”
“Oh?” She sat back, folding her hands in her lap, eagerly awaiting.
He took both her hands in his and tugged her to her feet, drawing her toward the chess table set up by the banked hearth.
“How do ye feel about naughty games?” He raised a brow in a challenge to her senses.
“Naughty games?” Oh, my. Giselle felt a blush coming on strong.
Alec grinned. “Aye.”
“To be fair, my lord, I’ve never played one.” But he’d intrigued her now.
His grin widened, and he stepped toward a sideboard. “Then ye’re in for an awakening.” He lifted the topper on a glass decanter of dark amber liquid and poured a dram into two crystal cups.
An awakening. From the moment he’d lifted her off the muddy slope on the moors, she’d been doing nothing but awakening. “What are the rules?”
